


A warrior's resolve

by princessvicky01



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Classic trope, Cullen Smut, Dom Cullen Rutherford, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light Dom/sub, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking, Sparring, warriors - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 08:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10940553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessvicky01/pseuds/princessvicky01
Summary: Classic trope - sparring warriors whose passion goes from the training field to the bedroom where Cullen decides to take charge.I couldn't help myself ok?Cullen X Annabel Trevelyan explicit smut with dom/sub themes - you've been warned.





	A warrior's resolve

“What’s the matter Cullen?” asks Annabel, tipping her head back to reveal a length of bare neck to him as she hastily ties up her hair. “Afraid you might lose?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he quips, doing his best to ignore her attempts to goad him into a getting her own way. “It’s highly inappropriate for the Inquisitor and her Commander to begin  _sparring_ in the middle of a training session.”

Turning, seemingly ignoring him, she bends to pick up a battered wooden shield and practice sword. His eyebrows knot further at her blatant disregard of his opinion. She’s still rifling through items, apparently looking for something more her size, by the way she casually discards so many bulky items and he can’t help but be drawn to the curves of her rear as she works.

He decides to continue and see if she actually is listening to a word he’s saying. “Besides, it would not do for the men to see me knock their Herald to the ground,” he smirks lightly to himself, half expecting her to hum unknowingly in agreement.

“Hmmm… Well, I think the men will respect us more,” she proclaims rising to place one hand on her hip.  “If we demonstrate the skills they’re trying to build with the ease only battle bloodied warriors can,” she twists an overly sized sword lazily in her hand. “ _But_ I can always spar with Blackwall I suppose,” she sighs then arches an eyebrow subtly before smirking at him. “I’m sure he’d happily knock me to the ground.”

Cullen emits a low growl. “Give me that,” he snatches the sword from her loose grip. He’d be damned if he was going to let her roll about in the dirt with another man while his officers cheered on.  A possessive need over rides his sensible nature, he’s not proud of it but can’t deny it. “Fine, **one** round.”

Huffing in mild annoyance he unequips his actual sword so its safely stored away, all the while noting her wide grin. She may have won this time but he’d get her back. As if reading his mind, she gives a delighted chuckle and picks up the remaining weapons. Handing a shield over she refuses to let go until he looks her in the eye, they’re alight with enthusiasm as she smiles up to him.

“You never know, you might actually have a good time, Commander,” she steps closer, lowering her voice for him. “Or is that only allowed in the bedroom?”

Her sultry tone catches his attention, the way it always did, and he smirks lightly with mischief. “Not only the bedroom,” he leans over her to drop his own voice in reply. “I believe the battlements, the stables, and behind the tavern, have all proven to be quite _entertaining_.” He rumbles the last word huskily and she tiptoes up to kiss him, slipping her tongue inside his mouth deftly before nipping his lower lip as she pulls away.

Heart racing his cheeks flush slightly at the moronic cheer from the small group of men he was meant to be training. “That’s enough,” his voice cracks out and silences them. “Just pay attention. You _might_   actually learn something.”

 

Annabel is already shaking out her muscles to loosen them. The boom of his command sends a tingle right through her. Buzzing she watches him crack his neck and roll his shoulders, knowing what muscles ripple under that armour her tongue briefly flicks out across her lips in appreciation.

He cocks his eyebrow at her and she promptly realises she must be staring. Blinking she shakes herself out again, although this time it’s to remove the effects of **him** rather than to prepare herself.

Bashing her sword against her shield she outright goads him. An old battle tactic, but annoying her opponents into attacking first had always come easy enough. It was as if the smug smirk and brazen behaviour performed by such a lithe ‘lady’ drove others to need to overpower her. Like her very gull in challenging them was a wound to their pride.

He not falling for it though, he’s fully aware of what she’s capable of and instead begins his slow circle. The corner of his eye catch the recruits gathering more spectators to watch and it stokes him. It’s been ages since he’s sparred with someone of decent skill and he has never faced such a beautifully fierce opponent. He’s slightly in awe at the sight of her wielding weaponry as if she’s been born with it in her hands. _Maker she’s perfect._

Suddenly she bolts and rushes forward, he knocks away her testing strike with ease. He has the clear advantage, with greater reach and raw power, but he would not underestimate her. He gauges her movements, she’s fast but not as accurate as he’d thought. What becomes clear as she lunges again, sweeping past his shield’s defence to flank him, is that she is an offensive warrior. Rushing to the front, ruled by the thrill of the fight, relentless and dangerous. Until her steam runs out. So, all he had to do was wait.

Surging forwards again she forces him onto the back foot as swords connect. The sing of metal vibrates up his arm and fires a hum through his nerves. He grunts as the blades grind against each other, using brute force he pushes hers back through panted breaths, while sweat begins to bead his brow. Busy revelling in the challenge he doesn’t notice her shield as she sweeps round and cracks it into his side.

It resounds loudly against his armour and sends a shock wave through his chest that catches the air in his lungs as he staggers to the side. The air shifts, he senses a threat and he whirls his shield in place to prevent her landing a heavy strike against him. Metal thuds and cracks wood. _Maker, that would’ve hurt! Is she trying to kill him!?_

He rounds to glare at her, only to find her eyes are even fiercer than his own, they’re blazing with basal blood lust. Despite being bright blue they somehow appear dark, almost predatory in nature. Its undeniably arousing as hot blood already pumps through his veins and sweat trickles down his back. His own eyes turn molten with a different form of primal desire. She lunges again and he parleys the strike, advancing on her with renewed vigour their swords crash repeatedly. Metal grinds and rings off metal as they scrape, slicing the air and making steel sing as they connect with forceful strikes.

Growing weary he steps back, his chest puffing he tries to take a moment to steady his pounding heart but she merely presses forward again. _Surely, she must be tiring too?_ She’s relentless, her stubborn attitude coming to the forefront as she down right refuses to show any let up in her assault.

Pressing in hard once more, she jumps and arches her blade down to land a solid hit against his shield and it flares anger in him. She’s not holding back. Growling he stands his ground, and ducking lowly from behind his defence he flicks his blade out to the side, smacking her own harshly from her grasp. She yelps, either in pain or surprise and he emerges from behind his defence.

Smirking he begins to lower his weapon but then the world whirls by. Tumbling he loses his blade in the confusion as he’s bowled to the ground. He lands with a resounding crash that forces all the air from his lungs, gasping on his back, panic rises to clutch his throat. Muscles pull tight as he tries to sit up but he’s too slow, she’s already tossed her broken shield to the side and pounced.

Now straddling his waist, she rips his shield from his loose hold and chucks it away. She’s puffing, some of her hair has fallen loose and sticks to her reddened face as her lips curl in a victory smirk.

“What’s the matter Cullen?” Annabel pants out, cocking an eyebrow at him before lowering her breath. “I thought you liked me on top?”

His brows knot tight and his nostrils flare with the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Now all but laying on top of him she moves with a deliberate grind of her hips against his groin. Hunger flares and turns his eyes to molten gold. Swiftly he grabs her thighs. Digging in blunt fingers, he lurches and rolls them with one fluid motion. A laugh and dust fill the air in their wake until he’s settled, firmly pressed over her, still panting, loose curls dropping from his forehead as he smirks down at her.

Annabel gives a brief half-hearted struggle, forcing him to use his bulk to pin her in place, with one thigh pressed down between her legs and his forearm holding firmly against her chest he shoves her back down firmly into the dirt.

“You know full well, I like you in every position,” he growls, a deviant smirk and smouldering eyes betraying the depth of his desire. He leans in, pressing his bulging erection into her inner thigh, he rolls his hips, she murmurs a wanton noise as he moves to kiss the mischievous smile from her lips.

 

A loud cough breaks the moment.

 

He stops dead, frozen in place, he suddenly remembers where they are and what they’re supposed to be doing. And it certainly isn’t this!

“Ah, Seeker, now why’d you have to go and do that for!? It was just about to get interesting,” Varric’s complaint confirms what Cullen already suspected; that their audience had indeed grown while he’d been caught up in the fight.

 _Maker’s breath._ He remains rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the ground, as familiar heat rushes up his neck. Maybe if he just remained still they would take the hint and leave?

“Oi, Inky, you get ‘em back! Don’t take it lying down!” Sera’s shout is followed by a giggle then the distinct rumble of the chuckle of a large crowd.

Annabel is trying her hardest not to laugh, biting down on her lip to smother the expression which only makes him glower. His face hardens to a threatening warning scowl. He was not in the mood for her games, not with so many eyes pinned on them and their, _compromising_ , position. His expression screams _‘don’t you dare’._

“You were saying?” Annabel purrs rising to the challenge of his look with skillful ease, one of her hands runs over his hip while her boot begins to rub at his leg.

That’s it.

He’s had enough and is up on his feet with a surprising turn of speed. Running his hand through his hair he tidies away the loose curls and stands tall. He promptly remembers his manners and extends a hand to help her up.

He ignores the crowd for as long as possible, but eventually he must meet their gaze, so he puts on his coldest expression. Cassandra is wearing a half-raised eyebrow and he focuses on her rather than the grins worn by dozens around her.

Annabel is dusting herself off over elaborately, clearly keen to let him take the lead and answer the Seeker’s questioning look.

“I…” He swallows hard. “We were just sparring...”

“Yes, then demonstrating how easy it is to become pinned,” Annabel continues his sentence with envious ease.  “And how if an opponent has bulk on their side and you’re unarmed, you can quickly end up in a, _dangerous_ , position.”

Cullen nods. “Yes. Precisely.” He stands a little straighter to rest his arm against his imagined sword hilt but Sera’s obscenely loud bark of laughter makes him glower once again.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me-“

“Oh, Curly come one don’t be like that!” Varric cuts across his serious tone and earns himself a warning glare.

“I have work to attend to,” he continues before nodding to Annabel. “But well met, Inquisitor, we shall have to continue this some other time.” Despite his fixed gaze, the corner of his lip twitches in a brief smirk.

“Of course, Commander,” she nods lightly in respect, but her eyes glint under thick lashes.

 “Ok, shows over folks, nothing to see,” Varric’s loud tone booms and destroys the look they're sharing.

With another nod for good measure Cullen strides from the training ground, sheer brute force meaning he manages to sweep through the crowd gathered and disappear to his quarters without too much hassle.

 

 

Arriving in her quarters that evening Annabel yelps and clumsily drops the leather gloves that are tossed at her. Wide eyed she looks to the source, Cullen, who is stood dressed casually in his thin linen undershirt with the sleeves rolled up and wearing his usual unimpressed expression.

“I had some spare time,” he states promptly before she can open her mouth. “And thought we should continue what you started earlier.”

“I see,” the words roll off her tongue as she slinks slightly closer. “Well, to ensure everything is fair, this time,” she purrs with a light smile. “I suggest we both strip, Commander.” Her deft fingers are already unbuttoning her blouse.

“I don’t recall agreeing to those terms,” he folds his arms across his chest and leans back slightly against her desk. “In fact. I suggest _you_ strip,” his voice deepens. “Entirely. For _me_.”

She continues to undress but her movements are tantalizing slow, unbuckling her belt with more care than he’s ever seen her show the damn thing before, then running her hand down her leg as she wriggled free of her bottoms.

Patiently he waits, growing harder with every inch of pale skin that is revealed, until finally she’s standing with goose-pimple skin in flimsy black undergarments. His eyes are transfixed by her hands as her fingers run over the waist band of her smalls, where they then pause.

His eyes narrow and flick up to see her wearing a determined smirk. That’s the last straw. He will **not** play her games anymore. He rushes to her and grabs hold, wrapping one hand firmly around her waist while the other pulls at the back of her head and forces her lips up into his. 

Her hands wrap up around his neck, fingers dragging at the curls of his nape as she embraces his kiss with passion, her body seeming to melt against his heat. His hand sneaks under her breast strap, running a callous finger tips over her nipple and feeling it harden in reply before he unclasps it. She presses further into him and slowly grinds into the erection straining in his trousers. A smirk from him breaks their kiss for a moment, it seems she wants this as much as him.

The heated kiss continues, his hand ghosts down under the thin fabric of her smalls to press the heel of his palm against her folds. Tenderly he rubs his finger over her slick heat before slipping it inside, feeling her coat him and her body loosen out a subtle moan. He adds another finger, pressing his lips into the crook of her neck, he gives his hands a few fast pumps. They’ve learnt what the other craves, and he knows the simple fact is, she gets off on force.

She gasps into his ear, her fingers curl into his shirt, so he curls his fingers inside, to stroke back and forth against that delicate spot. A deep throated moan escapes her and she bucks her hips against his hand. Pressing his heated forehead to her skin he uses his free hand to spread her legs slightly, and smirks again as she welcomes him by hooking a strong thigh up around his hip. He adds another finger and begins with vigorous, pounding, thrusts and she moans every time he pumps inside her. Until finally he curls and drags them down.

Annabel cries out, her nails dig into his back and her legs begin to tremble as she comes undone around him with unabashed moan of pure pleasure.

“I think I’ve found your weakness, Lady Trevelyan,” he mumbles, giving a few lazy pumps inside that make her hiss and writhe in his hold

Panting heavily she’s in no fit state to reply, and withdrawing his slink fingers he uses his bulk to push her into the bed and shove her down. Sprawling on her back her hand runs through her thick hair. “….Cullen….”

“Now, now,” he mocks, his voice low and gravely as he leans over and tugs down her smalls. “It’s Commander to you, remember?”

Her lips twitch in a smile which she bites down on, the excitement of him taking control almost unbearable after such fine work. Locking eyes with him she nods like a good girl then closes her eyes and tries to calm her body. To breath air, rich with his musky scent, deep into her lungs and steady her heart.

When she opens her eyes again he’s gloriously naked and looming down over her. “Of course, please forgive me, Commander,” she breathes heavily, dropping her thighs as he presses over her, just as he had on the training field. Now however rather than leather and metal grating it was skin against skin, smooth and supple, she runs her hands up his side then his biceps, firmly squeezing the muscles that pin her so easily.

“That’s better,” he nudges her neck with his nose then buries his lips into her delicate skin. He can feel her buck her hips into him as his cock slides along her thigh. Maker he loves her. The salty taste of her skin, her endless curves, the way she moves for him, the way she welcomes him, all of him…

He takes his time, nibbling at the crook of her neck as she leans away to expose more flesh for him to explore, he teases her with his cock and presses its wet tip against her heated core. Her hand slips down between them and he knows she means to grasp it. To take control. The impatient minx.

Instead he grabs her arm firmly. “Did I _say_ you could do that?” He meets her gaze with one of sternness, built from years of training unruly men, he furrows his brow to intensify the look.

Biting her bottom lip she slowly shakes her head, her lashes fluttering in innocence borne of mischief. “No, Commander, Sir,” her other hand is stroking up his side. “But I thought I should make it up to you, for earlier, for making you blush so brightly in public, Sir.”

He growls and snatches her troublesome mouth with his. “No. That, my lady, warrants punishment,” swiftly he lifts himself off, she gives a brief bereft look, then he flips her.

She yelps in surprise and then giggles against the sheets as he drags her rear towards him. His fingers dig in and kneed the flesh of her thighs. She wants him inside her and arches her back to invite him. When instead his hand comes down with a sharp spank against her arse she yelps and flinches at the sting and the shock. He stops, and she wonders if he’s unsure, hesitant, she knows he would never truly hurt her. Promptly she chuckles and wriggles her rear further to tempt him back. His hand smacks down again and this time she jerks, clasping the sheets tightly in her fists with a broken cry that slips into a moan.

“You seem to be enjoying your punishment, my Lady,” he states, his heavy hand stroking her rosy cheek.

She casts him a wicked smirk over one shoulder. “Oh, I enjoy everything you give me, Commander.”

A wolfish smirk spreads across his face as he spreads her legs with his thigh, leaning over to plant a kiss between her shoulder blades, one hand slipping down her folds to tease her and a line himself, his voice drops to a husky baritone. “As you should.” With that he slams himself inside her, driving to the hilt with a powerful thrust that makes her cry out his name.

Before the pulse of pleasure at him inside has even faded her back is arched, forcefully pushing herself into him, seeking more. He fills her entirely and she wants nothing more than to be fucked until she screams, to have him drive hard and fast, to have him take control of her body, to ravish her, all of her, until there’s nothing left. 

He ploughs and she cries out for more, he pulls her head back by her scalp, exposing her throat to bury his lips and his teeth into her neck. The raw stubble grates on her skin as he pulls out then thrusts back inside, she’s swears a unknown curse mixed with his name as he speeds up, ploughing her like the beast she knew he was. Her Lion of Ferelden.

Pulling out he stops suddenly, panting and hardly able to breath she’s about to toss him a look of disdain, but she’s flipped again. Yelping she looks up to find him wearing a flourishing smirk. She cocks an eyebrow, intrigued, and wraps her thighs up around his hips.

His copper rich eyes stare down and study her for a moment. He takes his time soaking in the sight of her, covered in a shimmer of sweat, skin flushed pink, dark hair fanned wildly and her body completely at his mercy; it makes for a delightfully sinful image. He can still hardly believe how easily she crumples for him. There’s want and then there’s _want_ \- and by the Maker it’s so easy to see how much she wants him. And he needs that, he needs her.

Still smirking he unclasps her legs, chuckling at the look of confusion on her face, he presses forwards, lifting her legs until her calves rest up high on his shoulders. Her centre, open before him makes for a magnificent sight, and without warning he plunges deep inside.

The angle and the intensity of the long thrust are enough to spill a wanton moan from him and a sharp cry from her. She feels another orgasm build with every movement of his hips and every groan that escapes his lips. He ploughs once more, relentless and unforgiving. Fingernails clasping into sheets, she thrashes her head to the side, the pleasure building until its almost unbearable and she calls out his glorious fucking title while climaxing around him.

He feels her body sing, her walls hug tight and hum as she cries out for all of Skyhold to hear. And let them hear. Let them know; she is **his**. With a final quick thrust, he releases himself inside her, a broken moan calls out her name with a hiss as his body shudders to a stop. A flood of bliss sweeps through every single nerve to sedate him to his very core. Panting, they remain in position for a moment, both slick with sweat and trying to recover a fraction of sense.

Her muscles start to tremble and he huffs a light chuckle when he opens his eyes to find her in a completely dishevelled state. He certainly feels no need to ask if she’s enjoyed it. Gently he slips from her then eases her legs down. She hums as he moves her but doesn’t help, her muscles loose and boneless as she lays in a heap. With a satisfied smile he collapses down beside her onto damp sheets.

“I love you,” he sighs heavily, cracking his amber eyes open and turning his head to face her.

Finally regaining some kind of composure Annabel flicks her big blue eyes to him. They rest on his face for the longest time, adsorbing every detail, from the tiny flecks of honey gold in his eyes and the wrinkles that gather in their corners,  to the way his rugged scar curled up his lip when he smiles ever so softly at her. Her and only her.

 “I love you too,” she rolls to him, with a grunt of mild discomfort which she considers a small price to pay. “Although I don’t recall learning any of that on the training field,” her lips sneak up in a playful smile. “Makes me intrigued to know more about how templars are trained.”

He chuckles brightly and wraps her in close against him. “I can assure you,” his laughter fades contently. “That was all me.”

Laughing back she reaches up to kiss him. “Well, I guessed you were made Commander for a reason, not just because you have a pretty face,” she giggles against his kiss and in reply he squeezes her overly tight.

“You are _trouble_ , Lady Trevelyan,” he states as their lips part and she settles her cheek against his chest with a light laugh. “And for some reason I can't resist you.”

Gently he brushes her hair, soaking in her warmth and how she curled up against him, like she never wanted to let him go, he squeezes her once more and kisses the top of her head.

“Good,” she murmurs, her eyelashes fluttering against his chest as she rests against him peacefully. “Because I think you need a little trouble in your life.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!   
> All kudos and comments are welcome <3


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